


Sunday Morning Coming Down

by MissChriss



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst and Humor, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:34:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissChriss/pseuds/MissChriss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A blind date isn't always what it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Morning Coming Down

Well I woke up Sunday morning, With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.

 

The crisp autumn air nipped at Puck's ears. The thin t-shirt was definitely a mistake. He had been desperately clinging to the last vestiges of summer. The sun always made it easier to forget how alone he was.

He'd spent the last ten years clinging to the sunshine. Clinging to the one time he was brave enough to go after love. Clinging to the rushed, hot kiss that made him sure of where he would always belong. Clinging to the sunny, Saturday morning kisses and trying desperately to forget about the firm hand on his chest. The small shake of a head he spent hours staring at.

The cold Sunday morning when he drove away from the life he knew. Drove away from Finn and eleven years of friendship. Drove away from Quinn and the baby she wouldn't keep. Drove away from his passive aggressive mother and a sister that was better off without him. But most of all he drove away from a boy he could have loved. When he kissed Kurt that day he had no idea that it was a kiss good bye.

The small little hole-in-the-wall club/coffee house had quickly become his second home. It was Williamsburg's answer to CBGB's closing. He spent every night there. Most nights he was behind the bar. His white undershirt clinging to his skin. Fending off the advances of every yuppie hipster that walked in the door.

Sure, enough of them might have been enough for a night. Their skin was pale and the skinny jeans clung to them in almost the same way as his had but they were never going to be enough. They were always going to compared to Kurt Hummel and they were never going to win.

Two nights a week were his. Tuesdays he had a standing set anytime he wanted it. That was the time he spent trying out originals and singing about his lost love. Saturdays were the days Jackie told him to play the favorites. The old folk songs that had recently come into fashion.

Before ducking into the club, he could have sworn he'd seen Kurt. The sure stride was something he was sure he'd recognize from a mile away but the blue peacoat disappeared into the coffee shop at the end of the block.

The hopeless romantic that still lived in him ached to follow the flash of blue. Of all the gin joints in all the land, you walk into mine. He can picture himself saying it and he can imagine the indulgent smile Kurt would give him after hearing it. But instead he heads into the darkness of the club. He'd made the mistake of following his heart once. He wouldn't do it again.

Looking around the club he felt his heart sink. It was littered with posers dressed in black and obviously on the prowl for some Johnny Cash. He thought about the Saturday before. When he'd gorged himself on Johnny's love songs and sang his duets one-sided. He thought about the Sunday after he'd spent the wandering around a sleepy Central Park and carrying the crushing press of lonesomeness on his back.

He took the quick shot of Jack that Penny held out for him. It didn't do what it used to but it still felt nice that he had built a tradition with someone in New York. Desperate to add one arms length between him and the lonely Sunday morning that awaited him on the other side of the sunset.

No, tonight was not a night for Johnny. It was a night for Kris.

On the Sunday morning sidewalk,  
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.  
'Cos there's something in a Sunday,  
Makes a body feel alone.  
And there's nothin' short of dyin',  
Half as lonesome as the sound,  
On the sleepin' city sidewalks:  
Sunday mornin' comin' down.

**

For the first night since he'd arrived in New York, Kurt Hummel was ready for a night on the town.

He'd spent the five years after graduation helping his father at the shop. Teaching Finn all the things Kurt had spent his early teens learning. Setting up the shop for the future. That was always the agreement.

He knew that at twenty-five he was coming into the trust fund that would finance his dream. His small little boutique shop that he'd designed when he was thirteen. The one that he'd drawn blueprints for and then hid them in the back of his closet. The dream he was building for himself before he'd been taught that it wasn't okay to dream.

He'd spent almost twice that long kicking himself. He could still remember the warm press of lips and the firm chest beneath his hand. The one time he wasn't brave enough to be honest. The one regret that followed him. That sunny morning was the one he clung to when waking up beside an empty space or even worse, waking up next to the one that would never be Noah. The one's he taught himself to settle for. Even if it was just for a night.

Tonight was the anniversary of his first year. It had been one year since he'd opened the doors of New Directions. His little Chelsea boutique was becoming quite the hot spot and he was finally breaking even. Santana and Britt had been the ones that told him it was time for him to get out there again.

He'd lost touch with everyone else from Glee. He thinks that Monday morning when he walked into William McKinley and found out about Puck leaving, was the day that Puck took his heart with him. Mercedes had drifted away from him and last time he'd heard she was sharing a beach house with Quinn. She mentioned him in the liner notes of her second album. He appreciated the thought.

He knew that all of his tried and true excuse had lost all of there weight. He'd avoided nightlife for the past year and half by saying he needed to focus on his career. Apparently they knew the perfect guy for him. Blind dates rarely ended well but he told himself that if this was a complete failure he could always blame it on the blind date curse.

That's why he's braving the cold and heading towards a club that was more than famous for it reputation. He's almost to the front door when the sunlight reflects off of a guitar case. All he sees is olive skin and the slick lines of the case. His throat closes and he has to hide in the diner. He could have sworn that was Noah. But it wouldn't be the first time he saw love out of the corner of his eye, only to be disappointed when he looked straight at them.

**

Kurt slides his coat off of his shoulders and takes the only empty table by the back of the room. Glancing at his watch he can see that he's about twenty minutes early. He orders a Gin and Seven, idly playing with the short red straw.

The club is just as dingy as he'd imagined but it holds something familiar to him. It reminds him of walking into the music room and seeing his girl give him a wave. It reminds him of Charlie throwing high-fives at him when he walks into the shop. It's warm grease on his palms. It's Carole's Shepard's Pie. It's warm kisses that never meant goodbye. It feels like a home he never knew he wanted until it wasn't there anymore.

The music for the night had already started. The slow, slick slide of country folk surrounds him and the voice reminds him of honey. Reminds him of the taste of peppermint tea on unfamiliar lips. Reminds him of Noah. He rests in the warmth of it until a cute waitress slides beside him and asks him if he wants his drink freshened up.

Looking down, he can see that all the ice has melted and the liquid is dangerously close to the lip of the glass. He nods and doesn't look up again until she sets a new drink in front of him. That's when he realizes he's been stood up. A hour and three drinks later he decides it's better this way. The voice is comforting but the gruff, whispered voice is telling him that this is his last song for the night.

The song weaves it's way into his soul. It's like the husky voice and slight laugh at the end of certain words have spent time with him. Have lived with him when he takes the train up the Jersey shore to escape the deafening quiet of New York on a Sunday. Spending his days watching the people at Seaside Heights laughing with their families. Long Sundays spent sketching lives he wanted for himself.

There are tears in his eyes when the song finishes and he stares at his glass until he sees someone out of the corner of his eye, standing beside the table. This time Kurt is brave enough to look the man in the eye. This time he's not disappointed.

**

“Kurt... what are you doing here?” Kurt recognized the voice and is glad that the years haven't changed it too much.

“Santana told me there was someone I just had to meet. Guess you're him, huh?” His voice is sad. Resigned to the fact that this was Santana's way of making him say goodbye to the boy he always loved in his head.

“Guess so.” Puck slides into the seat beside him and raises two fingers towards the cute girl at the bar.

They fall into the stilted conversation of two people trying too hard. Kurt rambles about the store and Finn and the new baby he's having with Rachel. Puck talks about the crazy customers and the dirty record execs that come into the bar and the creepy hipsters that drive him insane.

By the time Penny tells them it's closing time, they've slid into the easy, slow speech of a few drink and a lifetime of leaving things unsaid. Looking into Noah's eyes across the table, Kurt thinks he might actually get to be honest with him for the first time in a decade.

The walk to Puck's apartment is the slowest four blocks they've ever walked. The hum of Mr Black and Barracuda drown out their need to talk.

Puck's apartment is warm and the kind of cozy Kurt has been craving since he left Lima. The deadbolt digs hard into his back as he's pressed into it. Sharp teeth nip at his bottom lip and he allows himself to be taken by the feeling. Hard, searching hands force him onto the small thrift store table. His coat is sent flying behind Puck's shoulder and hot fingers grasp his hip and pull the thin material of his shirt out of his pants.

When the warm mouth leaves his to press open-mouthed kisses on his neck, Kurt can't help but gasp loudly into Puck's ear. His bottom lip scrapes across the stubble on Puck's cheek and Kurt can feel the shudder in Puck's thigh.

When the cool Formica table hits his lower back, he realizes what he's doing. He presses his hand into the center of Puck's chest. He can see the hard swallow of his Adam’s apple and the pain that fills his eyes.

“This can't...I can't.... this can't be just once.”

Puck rests his head on Kurt's stomach and exhales his relief sharply on his stomach.

“Never. After seeing you like this, it could never be just once.”

Kurt's pupils turn black and he locks his ankles around Puck's lower back. His fingers dance in thick brown hair and he bends Puck's head back to bite him under his jaw. Puck growls and picks Kurt up as they stumble towards the bedroom.

The bed they fall into is unmade and Kurt finds comfort in the fact Puck wasn't expecting someone to come home with him tonight. Lithe fingers pull on clothing and hair and eventually find their way to twist the nipple ring that he's happy to see Puck has kept after all these years.

The hot, hard press of Puck's cock on his hip is Kurt's undoing. He can't wait for Puck to take his pants off. His fingers glide past fine hair until they wrap tightly around the base of his dick. Puck gives a surprised stutter and thrusts hard into Kurt's tented briefs.

The wet kisses on his chest are enough to distract Kurt and he doesn't realize that Puck has gotten them both undressed until Puck leans away from him. He's kneeling between Kurt's splayed thighs and just staring at him. Kurt can feel the blush rush to his chest and he tries to hide his face in his shoulder.

Puck slides his length against Kurt's and the friction rips a throaty groan from both of their lips. Reaching into the side table, Puck pulls back again. The whisper fills the street-light lit room.

“So fuckin' beautiful. Fuck Kurt, please say you're ready for this.”

Kurt doesn't say anything. He just grabs the lube out of Puck's hand and coats his own fingers. The heat of Puck's gaze on him doesn't let him go slow. The firm press of his own fingers steal his breath and he throws his head back into the pillow behind him.

Kurt's neck is arched so far back that the pale moonlight bounces off of his skin and Puck can't help but sink his teeth into the same spot Kurt had bitten on him in the kitchen. The gasp is intensified when Kurt feels Puck's thick fingers join his own.

The slide of latex makes Puck's hand shake. He holds Kurt's eyes as he pushes into him and he can see that Kurt is fighting the urge to close his eyes. He feels the slow give of Kurt accepting him. He can see Kurt's stomach flutter and contract as he angles himself just right. Soon his thighs press tight against Kurt and he rests his forehead against Kurt's collarbone. A long moment of stillness stirs a need in Puck that he can't explain.

His forearms struggle to support his own weight as he slowly pulls out of Kurt. He pulls back until just the tip is still inside him. Kurt body grasps frantically around the head of his cock and his eyes are asking all kinds of questions that Puck isn't ready to answer yet.

“I'm have to pull out. I want you to try and stay open for me, okay?”

Kurt is confused but he nods his head anyway. The slide out is almost painful and Kurt struggles to follow Puck's instructions. For a brief moment, Puck just looks at him. Shyness floods him as he realizes what he must look like. The breath he takes to calm himself comes out a shuddered gasp as Puck's fingers trace around the rim of him. Fingers probe him deeper than anyone ever has.

Puck watches Kurt fight the contractions that his body demands. He's all pink and open. His fingers have to feel him like this. The warm, fluttering skin makes him flush. He's in awe. He was just there. Kurt let him be there.

Kurt's pleas turned into stumbling, curse filled ramblings. His head thrashing side to side. His neck already purpling with Puck's mark. Puck folds Kurt's legs over his shoulders and thrust forward unexpectedly. The force pulls Kurt into him and Puck can feel his gasp against his chest.

His thrust are fast and brutal. He's pouring all the pain, all the love, all the lost time into Kurt and Kurt is matching him thrust for thrust. It's then he realizes that he wasn't the only one lonely on Sundays or mourning what could have been.

The liquid that falls onto Kurt's chest could be sweat and they could be tears of relief. He isn't sure which but the heat and press of Puck against him is enough to make his control snap.

His eyes roll back and his calf twitches in protest. He arches his back high and lets go. The force of his orgasm leaves him shaking and he can taste himself on his bottom lip. He licks his lips and watches as Puck seizes above him. Three more harsh thrusts rocket pleasure up his spine, then all he knows is the slide of wet skin and contentment.

Skin on skin. Heart to heart. They kissed. They loved. They slept. Then Kurt woke up.

**

Kurt sat at Puck's thrift store kitchen table gazing out the fifth floor window. The New York skyline was surprisingly bright for this time of year. The light was soft and comforting. The worn, plaid shirt he'd pulled out of the closet managed to hold Puck's smell.

The smell of coffee filled the small apartment and it was the only thing that kept Puck from bursting into tears when he woke up to an empty bed. He saw Kurt's clothes folded neatly on his dresser and he could hear Kurt's soft humming in the kitchen.

Pulling on his boxers, he leans against the door jam and watches as Kurt makes breakfast.

They'll spend the day surrounded by sea air and Kurt's commentary about the regulars he sees every Sunday. Kurt will take him to his favorite coffee shop and they'll share licorice tea with pecan pie. Kurt will fall asleep on the train and his head will lull to the side to rest on Puck's shoulder. An old married couple with send him a smile when Kurt snuffles against his neck. They'll spend the night making love and wake up at six on Monday morning to do it again. They'll each be late for work and they'll kiss each other goodbye on the subway platform. Kurt will show up on Puck's doorstep at 3 am to bring Puck dinner after closing time. They'll watch the sunrise on the fire escape. Puck will start to use his Tuesdays to sing about love found. They will be in love for the rest of their lives.

Puck doesn't know this yet though. So he just watches Kurt dance around his apartment in his shirt. Content in the feeling of not feeling alone on a Sunday morning.

**


End file.
